


All I Need

by sunsetmog



Series: Maybe This Time [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Play, Come play, Daddy Kink, Good Boy, Infantilism, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Stuffed Toys, Thumb-sucking, Watersports, Wetting, bathtime, bottle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 02:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1589048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For the last time," Harry says, "I love it. I love looking after you. I'd do it any time. Anyway, what's a spare bedroom for if you can't piss in it every once in a while?"</p><p>or, </p><p>Louis really, really likes being called <i>baby</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Need

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you SO MUCH to **trinity_clare** for stepping up and betaing this for me.  <33 Any remaining errors are my own. 
> 
> Title comes from the AWOLNATION song of the same name. 
> 
> From a prompt on tumblr: if you're taking prompts: louis/harry (an addition to the daddy kink/age play series), with wetting. (that prompt also included another request, but that doesn't fit with this verse, so have the first half of your request instead).

"Are you sure about this?" Louis asks, crawling over Harry's lap and cupping his face in his hands, tilting his chin up. "Because I swear, if you even have, like, one misgiving about it, then we don't have to do it."

Harry covers Louis' hands with his own. It's weird, because it means that he's basically cupping his own face as well, but Louis will go with it, because he really, really wants this, but he wants Harry to want it too, and that part feels more important. He shifts a little, his jeans brushing against Harry's. His dick feels trapped up against his zip, and he tries not to think about it because this is what he's asking for, and he doesn't really understand _why_. 

"Lou," Harry says. "I said _yes_ , didn't I?"

"You might just have been saying it," Louis says, obstinately. 

"Because I love you and would do anything for you, you mean?"

"Yes," Louis says. He still can't get his head around that. He's not exactly convinced, even now, that Harry isn't just going along with all this weird shit that's locked up inside Louis' head just because he can't tell him no. "You know you don't have to, right?"

"I swear to god, Lou," Harry says. "I will tell you a million times if I need to. I'm in this."

Louis tries his hardest not to flush, but it's hard. _This_ is more than just Louis calling Harry _Daddy_ sometimes. It's Harry's childhood books on his shelf in Harry's living room, it's Louis' books upstairs in a box at the bottom of Harry's wardrobe, Louis' name written carefully into the _this book belongs to_ box on the inside cover. It's a drawer of folded t-shirts and sleepsuits and a big fluffy towel with a hood and ears. It's cuddly toys secreted into his bed and Harry's. It's the two baby bottles with the specially adapted lids Louis ordered off the internet, which are still in their packaging in a bag hidden under the bed. It's wanting to wet himself. It's wanting to be so out of it that he barely registers it. 

It's saying it out loud and hoping Harry is still here when he opens his eyes. 

"If there's something you want to try, or that you need," Harry tells him, not for the first time, "then I will try it, okay? Because I fucking love you, and that's every last bit of you, all right?"

"Even the weird, fucked up bits," Louis says, and he tries to laugh, but he can't quite manage it. There's a part of him that needs this, that desperately, desperately wants to be little and comforted and looked after and made to feel safe and loved. He keeps trying to hide it away and make do with the little parts he already has, but he just can't. He can't. 

"There's weirder and more fucked up stuff you could want," Harry says. 

Louis manages to smile at that, at least. "Not much, though," he says. "God, I love you. I'm so fucking lucky to have you, Haz."

"We'll try it, all right? We'll give it a go and see if we can make it work."

Sometimes Louis is so embarrassed and humiliated about the things he wants and needs that he genuinely doesn't know how to deal with it. "This is not what you signed up for," he says, and he drops his hands to his thighs, fisting them into the hem of his t-shirt. "Bet you wish you could have a totally normal boyfriend."

"Nah," Harry says, and he carefully unfists Louis' hands from his shirt. "Better this way."

Louis doesn't look up from his lap. "There's more," he says, since he might as well get it over and done with. "There's not just the, you know, wanting to wet myself."

Harry, to his credit, doesn't flinch. "Yeah?"

"It's upstairs," Louis says, and Harry nudges him up to his feet, pushing him in the direction of the stairs. 

"Show me," he says, and Louis flushes, and takes the stairs two at a time, until they're in Harry's bedroom and Louis can pull the bag out from under the bed, the jiffy bag with the two-pack of bottles in stuffed inside. 

"Here," Louis says, and he pushes it into Harry's hands. 

Harry opens the bag carefully, and his expression doesn't change as he takes out the package, dropping the jiffy bag on the floor as he unwraps the box. "I would have bought you this," he says, softly. "You should have asked, baby."

Louis really, really likes it when Harry calls him _baby_. He wishes he didn't. "Harry—"

"You haven't been hiding this for long, have you?"

"A few weeks," Louis says. A month, a couple of months, whatever. He'd got it out a couple of days ago and got rid of the dust. 

"Oh, Lou."

"It's embarrassing, innit," Louis says, and he doesn't look up from the bottle, cupped in Harry's hand like it's something special. "Wanting that. It's fucked up."

"I don't think so," Harry says. 

"Well, then," Louis says. "You must be fucked up too, if you don't think it's fucking weird." There's a part of him that wants to cry, or hit something. He hates asking for this stuff. He hates needing it so much. He hates that when they do this stuff it's fucking perfect, and that doing it doesn't make him want it less, it makes him want it _more_. That's just him, though—never fucking satisfied with what he has. He always wants more, always wants to nudge something perfect ever closer to the limit, the stop sign, the end. He feels like he's all knotted up in a fucked up cats-cradle, and the only way out is to burrow ever further down. 

"You want me to hold the bottle when we do it, or do you want to hold it?" Harry asks, like this isn't fucked up. 

"Harry—"

"Stop it," Harry says, softly. "I'm your daddy, aren't I? Sometimes I'm your daddy, and sometimes you're my good little boy, and this is all okay, Louis. Everything you want is okay. You can have all of this and anything else you want, all right?"

"Harry—" He's perilously close to crying, and he doesn't even know _why_. 

Harry drops the bottle down onto the bed and steps into Louis' space, wrapping him up into a hug. He has this way of wrapping his arms around Louis' shoulders, and kissing the top of Louis' head, that makes Louis feel littler. 

"Do you want your daddy, Lou?" Harry asks, and Louis desperately, desperately wants to say _no_ , but he can't. 

He nods instead, hiding his face in Harry's shirt, burrowing closer. 

"Use your words, baby," Harry tells him, gentle as always. 

"Yes," he says, muffled against Harry's shirt. "Want my daddy." He knows they haven't finished their conversation, but he just—he wants to forget that for a bit. He just wants to step out, find that safe space that's just his and Harry's, where none of the rest of it matters anymore. 

"That's a good boy," Harry says, and he pulls Louis tighter into his chest, Louis curling up against him, arm around his neck. "My good little boy, Lou."

He wishes he didn't want this so much. 

~*~

The photoshoot runs over, and by the end of it, Louis is frenetic, bouncing off the walls, jumping onto Liam's back, pulling Zayn's hair, and teasing Niall into a playfight. 

It takes Harry's hand in the small of his back, and him leaning into Louis' side to whisper, _be good_ , for Louis to even realise he's vibrating off the key of reason. 

"Sorry, sorry," Louis says, but he can't stop moving, jiggling from foot to foot even as the photographer's getting them into position for what they all hope is the final set of shots. He can't stop. Once they're out of here tonight, then the next day and a half belong to him and Harry, and it's just going to be the two of them, locked inside Harry's house, with no interruptions. 

It isn't the last set of shots after all, and it's another hour before they're shutting the set down, and Louis and Harry are heading out to Harry's car. Inside, Louis clenches his hands into fist and presses them into the seat as Harry climbs inside. 

"Fuck," he says, as Harry closes the door. "Harry, fuck."

"Long day," Harry says, and there are girls waiting by the gates to the studios with their cameras out, so Harry doesn't even look over at him as he slides his hand over Louis' thigh. "You all right?"

"God," Louis says, letting out a long breath. "I'm a fucking nightmare sometimes, honestly. I couldn't stay fucking still."

"Yeah, well," Harry says, starting the engine. "You've got all evening to be my good boy, haven't you? Daddy's good boy."

Louis lets out a ragged breath. "Want it so much," he says, and he knows how worn down he must be to admit that out loud. It doesn't matter that Harry must know it already; Louis still can't usually stand to admit it, and definitely not outside of their houses. 

Harry drives carefully through the studio gates, sunglasses on, and he raises a hand to all the fans who are waving at them and screaming. Louis does the same, smile plastered on, until they're down the road and out in traffic, and then he slumps down in his seat. 

"Hey," Harry says, reaching over and bumping the crook of his finger into Louis' thigh. "Let it all go."

"This is so stupid," Louis says, kicking the footwell with the toe of his Vans. "God, I bet no one else is going home to do this."

"Louis—"

"I just—I really fucking want it, okay? I want to be your fucking good boy more than anything and it is _so weird_ , and tonight's going to be even weirder—"

"Did I ever tell you how I once stood in the shower without the water on and pissed all down my legs, and then wanked off?" Harry asks, conversationally. "Or how there's this porn site you can go to where you just watch guys wetting themselves?"

"Haz—"

"I'm just saying, okay. There are other people in the world who get off on the same things that we do."

 _We_. Louis picks at the skin by his thumbnail. "How am I ever going to know if you're just going along with something that I want but you hate?" he asks finally, because it's a question that's been on his mind for a while, and he wants to know the answer. 

"I think I'd tell you," Harry says, carefully. "I'd tell you which bits made me feel uncomfortable and which bits didn't, and then we'd try it again. Hopefully without the uncomfortable bits. I think."

"How come we haven't done that so far?"

"Dunno," Harry says, pulling to a gentle stop by a traffic light on red. "Perhaps cos there haven't been any uncomfortable bits." He leans over and tucks his fingers into Louis', keeping an eye on the traffic lights. "Look, just because I'd never thought about any of this before we started talking about it, doesn't mean that I don't find it, like, really fucking great now we've done it. I love looking after you. I _love_ that you let me. You think you feel special being looked after, that's nothing to how I feel getting to look after you."

"You're always so sincere," Louis says. He nudges Harry's hand away. "Light's green."

Harry accelerates away from the junction. They're not that far away from Harry's place, thankfully. Louis leans over and turns the radio on. 

"That's me," Harry says. "Awfully sincere."

Louis tries to smile, but he's felt uncomfortable in his own skin all day, like he's the wrong shape and size for his body, like he's trying to shape himself into something resembling himself for the sake of the photoshoot and the others. Days like this are rare, few and far between, but he hates himself on days like this, hates that he can't be fucking normal like everyone else. 

"Okay," Harry says. "So, what are we going to do when we get in?"

"Bath," Louis says, quickly, looking down at his knees. He likes bathtime. It's easy to relax, usually, and he can just slip down and away with the warmth of the water and Harry washing his hair. 

"You hungry?" Harry asks. 

Louis shakes his head. "Still full from the sandwich earlier." It's a bit of a lie, but he's not sure if he could eat. He's nervous, and anxious, and needy. They've talked and talked about Louis wetting himself but it's still a huge fucking step they're taking tonight. 

"Okay," Harry says. "Bath. Then what? You want a story? And then the bottle?"

Louis knows he's gone red. He looks out the window and rubs at his chin with his fingertips. He might need to shave before he gets in the bath. "Yeah," he says, still embarrassed. 

"Right," Harry says. "I love you."

"I know," Louis says, and he means to say, _I love you_ back, but his head's too much of a mess to concentrate. His leg jiggles. "I know."

~*~

"You finished yet?" Harry calls up the stairs. "I've done you a piece of toast. Do you want it up there or down here?"

"Up here," Louis says, sticking his head round the bathroom door. "I'll be done in a minute." He's shaved carefully and slowly, and he rinses off his razor and puts it in the cup on the back of the sink as Harry comes up the stairs. He's not usually neat, but there's a precision to how he prepares himself for when they play. He steals some of Harry's moisturiser and massages it in, even as he hears Harry go into his bedroom. He likes how soft his skin feels after he's moisturised. It's not normally something he bothers doing, but it feels right to do it now. 

When he goes into the bedroom, Harry is perched on the bed eating a piece of toast. There's a plate next to him with strawberry jam spread on a slice of toast, and cut into quarters. There's a cup on the bedside table with a cat on the side, with milk in. "You done?" Harry asks. 

"Yep," Louis says, and he's glad he got rid of his jeans before he went into the bathroom. He's just in his boxers and a t-shirt, and it's easy to sit down on the bed next to Harry and bump his knee into Harry's. "You all right?"

"Yeah," Harry says. "Here." He passes him the toast and jam, and the cup of milk. "I warmed the milk up."

"Thanks," Louis says, and looks down at his lap. Harry does all of these things for him without even blinking about it, and half the time Louis doesn't know what to do with all of it. 

"Anything else we need to talk about that we haven't already?" Harry asks. He's barefoot and he tucks his foot around Louis' ankle. 

Louis shakes his head. He tries to eat his toast but there's nervous apprehension rolling in his stomach. He wants this so much, but it's terrifying. Asking to wet isn't just a hug or a teddy bear or making his pants all messy as he calls Harry _Daddy_. It's so much more than that, and it feels like—it almost feels like it's too much. He puts his toast down on the duvet and twists so that he can hide his face in Harry's shoulder. 

"Promise me you're all right with this," Louis asks, for what feels like the hundredth time. He wraps an arm around Harry's shoulders, but Harry just puts down his plate and bundles Louis up into a hug. 

"I'm more than all right with this," he says, kissing Louis' ear. "I want it, Lou. I want to be your daddy and look after you and give you exactly what you need."

It takes a very long time for Louis to nod his _okay_ into Harry's neck. 

"You ready?" Harry asks. 

"Yeah," Louis says, and his heart's pounding. 

"Drink your milk, baby," Harry says, standing up. "Hold Puddle whilst I go and run us both a bath."

Louis nods, even as Harry's tucking Louis' Puddle mouse into the crook of his elbow. Louis hides his face in Puddle's fur for a long moment, and lets out a ragged breath as he hears Harry in the bathroom, singing to himself as he runs the bath. 

Then he drinks his milk, and finishes his toast, and puts the plate and cup down on the bedside table. He tries not to think too much about anything, just his soft toy mouse and his daddy in the bathroom. He can't let go of things as easily as he usually can, the relentless pulsebeat of what they're going to do later just goosebumping across his skin. 

Puddle has such pretty ears, little pink and white hearts on the inside of her ears and on her paws and her feet. She's looking less than pristine now, her fur soft and well-hugged, a splash of a stain on her ear when either he or Harry spilt hot chocolate one night. 

Louis slides his thumb into his mouth and tries to let go. 

It doesn't happen until later, when he's been in the bath a while, cushioned against Harry's chest, Harry stroking absently at Louis' tummy, mouth pressed to Louis' hair. The water is deliciously warm, the bath still full of bubbles because Harry hasn't made any move to wash his hair yet. Every now and again, Harry murmurs, _my good boy_ into Louis' hair, but he doesn't push it beyond that. Louis concentrates on how nice it feels, safe in his daddy's arms. He'd wriggled a bit at the start, the day's tensions still sitting there on his skin, tiny gossamer-thin threads tying him to his real life. It takes a while for them to start to disappear, for Louis to start to drift away, for him to curl into Harry's chest and close his eyes. For his dick to start fattening up, the tip peeking up through the bubbles as Louis burrows a little closer into Harry's arms. 

"Good boy," Harry tells him softly. "Who's my good little boy?"

"Me, Daddy," Louis says, without opening his eyes. 

"That's right," Harry says, stroking Louis' hair. "My best boy, Louis."

It's nice, just getting to curl up in the warmth with his daddy. Harry strokes his hair and his stomach and kisses his forehead and his temple and his cheek. Louis gives into it, pressing close and closing his eyes. By the time Harry asks him to sit up so that he can wash Louis' hair, Louis feels like any kind of moving is far too much to ask. He whines, but goes where Harry tells him, leaning forward so that Harry can pour warm water over his head, and gently shampoo his hair. 

Then, afterwards, Louis gets to be wrapped up in his big, fluffy towel with the little hood and the bear ears, and Harry dries him all over, careful and slow. Louis is helped into his furry sleepsuit by his daddy, and he curls up against Harry's chest in the cavernous bed in the spare room. It crinkles a little as Harry gets them settled in, but Louis just presses closer, rubbing his nose against Harry's throat, and doesn't think about why. 

"Love you, baby," Harry says. "You feeling okay?"

Louis' heart pounds. He nods his _yes_ , but he knows Harry won't accept that. They've talked about this. Louis has to use his words. 

"Tell Daddy, Lou."

"Yes, Daddy," Louis tells him, and he feels pink and embarrassed and hot all over. His dick is tenting out his sleepsuit. 

"Good boy," Harry tells him. "Shall we make you a messy boy?" He cups Louis' dick through his sleepsuit. "Daddy knows how much you like being a messy little boy."

Louis nods at that, his thumb sneaking into his mouth. "Please," he says, round his thumb. He watches in fascination as Harry starts to shape out the line of Louis' dick with his thumb and forefinger. He drags the cotton over the slick tip of Louis' dick, the little wet patch spreading a little as his Daddy touches him. "Messy," he says, fingers curling over his thighs. 

"Not messy enough yet," his Daddy tells him, kissing his temple. "We'll get you so messy, baby. And then you can have your bottle, like a good boy. Daddy's good little boy."

Louis wants this so much. It settles in his tummy like a persistent, desperate need that he doesn't quite understand. Normally, Harry just calling him _baby_ is far enough down for him, but wanting the bottle like he does is different. He wants it so much. He's so warm right now, cradled up against his Daddy's chest, and he presses even closer, wanting to be nearer, wanting to be held tighter. 

"Are you going to come for Daddy?" Harry asks him, mouth to Louis' temple. "Come all over your sleepsuit, baby. You'll be so messy. So messy, baby."

Louis is going to, soon. He can feel it curling across his skin, this _warmth_ , this need. His daddy keeps on touching him, terribly slowly and very gentle, his long fingers shaping out the length of Louis' dick, the little wet patch getting a bit bigger as Harry plays with him. Louis doesn't need to think about anything else, just leaning into Harry's chest as his daddy kisses his hair, and whispers, _I love you_ into his ear. He fists his hand into Harry's t-shirt, burying his face in Harry's chest. 

He stays there, his breath coming in warm little hitches against Harry's shirt, Harry cradling him close, and Louis feels so little, so much more little than normal, and so loved, and everything else just sort of floats away. He comes quietly, his dick pulsing into Harry's fingers, and everything's warm and lovely. 

"That's my messy little baby boy," Harry tells him, still stroking him through his sleepsuit. There's come all over Louis's dick and Harry's moving it around with slow, deliberate fingertips. "Aren't you a good little boy, baby? So good for Daddy. Such a messy little boy."

Louis hides his face in Harry's t-shirt. His cheeks are all warm, and he's embarrassed, but it feels so nice. Everything feels so nice, and gentle, and quiet. It's the only time he ever truly turns his brain off, and just letting that all go, even for just a little bit, is a blessed, desperate relief. He's wanted this for such a long time. 

"You ready for your bottle, Lou?" Harry asks, reaching past him to the bedside table. There are two bottles, both full of milk. Harry must have put them there earlier.

Louis wants to be ready. He's thought about this for so long, been brave enough to buy them, then cowardly enough to hide them under Harry's bed for weeks; it's taken him this long to just come to terms with wanting a bottle so much. It is so much further down than he normally thinks about, him wanting to be held close and bottle fed. That's a _baby_ , and normally he doesn't want that. 

Knowing that hasn't stopped him stop wanting it, and now it's here, and it's actually going to happen, he's trembling. He wants it so much, and he's more scared of not getting it than he is of what it means, him wanting Harry to do this for him. "Daddy—"

"It's all right," Harry tells him, stroking his cheek. He's holding the bottle in his other hand. "It's all right, Louis. You're a good boy. You'll still be my good little boy."

Louis wants that _so much_. He licks his lips. 

"That's right, little one," Harry says. "That's your bottle if you want it. All yours, baby."

Louis twists his fingers into Harry's shirt, and says, "Please."

It's an odd feeling, taking the bottle in his mouth, unusual and a little weird, but nice, all at the same time. Harry holds him close and kisses the top of his head a lot, and it's easy to just give into it and slide away, not thinking about anything but the milk in his bottle, and Harry holding it for him. It's such a slow process, never getting more than a little bit even with the specially adapted bottle top, and that just makes it even better, the world slowing down even more around him. Being so close to Harry is lovely, and he loves how quiet everything is, including the inside of his head. He tries to drink faster, but he can't. Harry isn't tilting the bottle up enough, and the top won't let him drink more than a little bit at a time anyway. 

It takes him a while to settle into it properly, but by the time Harry swaps out the first bottle for the second, he's warm and comfortable in Harry's lap, and Harry's other hand is stroking soft patterns over Louis' tummy, slow and gentle. Louis is getting full, his bladder starting to remind him that at some point soon he's going to need to go to the loo. Right now it isn't urgent, not even close, but Harry cups his hand around Louis' dick anyway, just for a moment, before he goes back to stroking his tummy. 

"You're my little boy, aren't you?" he asks, stroking his fingers over Louis' balls again, then back up. "Drinking all of your bottle like a good boy."

Louis murmurs around his bottle. He knows he's blushing with everything that he wants, and everything he needs. He turns his head to one side, his cheek brushing against Harry's shirt. He can't drink any more. 

"You done with that, huh?" Harry asks. He leans over to put the bottle down on the bedside table, and leans in to press his mouth to Louis' forehead. "You did so well."

Louis presses a little closer. "Story," he says, mouth pressed to Harry's chest. He's not desperate enough to go yet, and anyway, he wants this feeling to just carry on and on. Cradled close in Harry's arms, so looked after and little and loved. He whines as Harry pulls away to reach for _The Tiger Who Came To Tea_ , and complains again when Harry shifts their position so that he can start to read. 

Inside the book it says _LOUIS_ in big letters. Louis traces it with his fingertips. 

"All yours, baby," Harry says. "That's what it says, doesn't it? L-O-U-I-S. Louis. That's you."

Louis nods, burrowing closer into Harry's lap. "Mine," he says, then he curls his fingers into Harry's. "My daddy," he says. 

Harry just kisses the top of his head, and starts to read. 

By the end of the book, Louis really wants to go to the toilet. He tries to ignore it, tries to draw his legs further together, but Harry stops him with a hand to Louis' dick, cupping him again. 

"Do you need to go, baby?"

Louis really, really likes being called _baby_. He shakes his head, even though he does, and reaches for the second book instead, planting it down in Harry's hand. It's new, and has a flapping penguin on the front, and is called _Up and Down_. Inside, Harry has written, _To Louis, lots of love from Harry xxx_

"We can stop if you need to go to the toilet, Lou."

"Don't," Louis lies, and presses his finger to Harry's inscription on the inside cover of the book. He's starting to get desperate; that was a lot of milk he'd just drunk. 

He can't quite get over it. He'd had milk, in a bottle, and he's being so well looked after. He feels warm all over. Warm, and loved.

"Okay," Harry says, and he turns the first page of the book, stopping to kiss the top of Louis' head again, and stroke his hair. 

Louis can't keep still for this story, wriggling in Harry's lap as Harry slowly turns the pages, trying to press his legs together. He's getting desperate. Harry won't let him move, though, keeping him still with a hand to Louis' dick, still reading out each page at the same slow, methodical pace. 

He whines, desperate, trying to close his legs. Harry keeps him still. 

"Stay still," Harry tells him, when they're a couple of pages from the end. "There's a good boy. Only a little bit left to go, Lou. Be a good little boy for Daddy until we've finished your story."

God knows why Louis needs to be constantly told he's a good boy, but he craves it, desperate need curling across his skin, constantly needing more. He wants it so much, all the time, however much Harry will give him never actually enough. He hates that. He hates that it isn't enough, that he always wants more. One day it's going to be too much, and it'll end, and Louis knows this, he _does_. But he still can't make it all slow down and stand still; he always wants more. He presses his face into Harry's chest as he finishes the story, and as he reaches over Louis to put the books back down on the bedside table. Out of the way. 

"Daddy," he says, a little desperately. "I need to go."

"Hush," Harry tells him, stroking Louis' hair away from his face. "It's okay. We talked about this, didn't we? We talked about how this was all right. You're still a good boy. You'll always be my good boy."

Louis doesn't feel like a good boy. He feels stupid and awkward and like he's so desperate for the loo he can barely think about anything else. He just wants to let go. He wants it so much. He wants all of this so much. 

Harry just keeps on playing with Louis' dick, never speeding up, always staying slow. His other hand traces a pattern over Louis' bladder. Louis knows that he's sweating. He's just so, so desperate.

"We could read another story later on," Harry goes on. "Would you like that? I bought you another new one. Picked it out just for you."

Harry keeps doing this; buying Louis things for when they play. Louis is so terribly spoiled. He doesn't need any of the new things that Harry gets for him but he can't ever say no. He wishes he could say no. 

"Harry—"

"Daddy," Harry corrects, gently. "I'm your daddy, aren't I?"

Louis nods. His cheeks are so hot. "Yes. Daddy."

"Do you need to go, Lou? You can, baby. You can let go. It's not naughty."

Louis makes a sound that sounds terribly like a sob. He clutches at Harry's shirt, trying to tug him down, and Harry goes easily, kissing the corner of Louis' mouth, protective and just _there_ , where Louis needs him to be. He rubs his nose against Louis'. 

"I love you, and I'll still love you," Harry tells him. Louis does cry at that; he can't help it. It's what he wants more than anything, and he didn't even know it. To still be loved: that's it. 

It should be difficult to let go and wet himself; it's twenty-plus years of training he's trying to bypass, but in reality it's easier than he anticipated. He's so desperate anyway, and without being able to cross his legs and hold it in, it's sort of easier to just...let go. He feels Harry twitch when the first stream starts. He knows Harry's hand must be getting wet but Harry doesn't pull away. He just keeps on cupping Louis' dick as Louis wets himself, and keeps on kissing him. 

Louis kisses him back a little slowly, his breath catching as he cries, reaching for him and holding on tight. "My daddy," he says, in between kisses. "My daddy."

Afterwards, when he's finished, Harry bundles him up into a tight hug, burying his face in Louis' neck. He's hard against Louis' bum. Everywhere is so wet. "I love you," he says, without pulling away. His words tickle against Louis' throat. "I love you so much."

The bed's wet, and Louis' sleepsuit is wet, and the spare room smells like wee. Harry is still hard despite all of that, and Louis can feel his dick fattening up again too, the soaking cotton dragging over the tip. He's made such a mess. "Messy," he says.

"That's right," Harry says. "You're my lovely, messy little boy."

Louis swallows. He wriggles back against Harry's dick. Everything's so wet. It's gone everywhere. The bed crinkles a little, Harry's secret protective purchases from the internet clearly covering the mattress. "Not messy enough," he says, softly, because he doesn't know exactly how to ask for more. 

Harry's hand tightens on Louis' side, just for a moment. "Like we talked about?" he asks, equally quietly. 

Louis shakes his head. He knows he's going even more red, his cheeks flushing hot. They'd talked about Louis getting to touch Harry, and how much Louis liked to clumsily play with him, but Louis doesn't want that right now. He pulls at his sleepsuit a bit, so that it drags across his dick, sodden and wet. It catches a little, the buttons gaping. If he pulls it just a little bit more, his dick might slip free, but he doesn't want that. He sort of wants, well, the opposite. "Daddy," he whispers, burying his face in Harry's neck. "Make me more messy."

"But you don't want to touch?" Harry doesn't look puzzled, just careful. He's always so gentle with Louis when they play; it almost makes him want to cry. 

Louis shakes his head. He pulls at his wet sleepsuit again. The gap between the buttons gapes even more. "There," he says, making the hole as big as he can. "In there."

"You want me to put my dick there?" he asks. 

Louis knows he's going a brighter shade of red. He nods, but doesn't meet Harry's eyes. Harry is always persistent with his questions, making sure that what he does is exactly what Louis is failing to ask explicitly for. Louis doesn't really know how to ask his daddy to come inside his sleepsuit though, fucking in between the buttons where it's wet and tight and messy and naughty. 

He doesn't know why he wants these things. None of it makes any sense if he thinks about it for any particular length of time. Sometimes he wishes Harry would say no to at least part of it, so that he at least knew that there were limits. Limitless just makes him ask for more. 

Harry nudges at Louis' foot with his toes, bumping them against Louis' ankle. It's an _I love you._ The whole thing is an _I love you_. Harry's either stupendously easy to read, or Louis has got used to this. He curls his fingers into the damp sheet and then presses an open-mouthed kiss to Harry's throat. "My daddy," he says, without pulling away. "You're my daddy."

"Yeah," Harry says. "I am, and I love it."

Louis just genuinely doesn't understand that, but he'll take it if it means Harry is shifting him down into the wet patch on the sheets, and is crawling over him, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. 

"My best little boy," Harry carries on kissing him, but he's fingering open the gap between the buttons of Louis' sleepsuit at the same time, one button popping open. He kisses Louis' cheek, and his nose, and his mouth. Louis kisses him back, because Harry is his daddy and he loves him so very much indeed, even if he doesn't understand why he does this for him. 

Harry has angled it so well that when he pushes his dick through the gap in the buttons, it presses right up against Louis' dick. Everything is so wet and sodden, and Harry sits back a bit so that Louis can see him wrap his hand around the base of his dick and start to wank himself off. 

"Is this what you wanted, baby?" Harry asks. Pre-come leaks from his slit, and it smears across Louis' skin on every up-stroke, his dick bumping into Louis'. 

Louis wriggles, trying to get a better angle. His daddy is going to come all over his dick, and everything's so wet. It's just what he wanted. He wants to be so, so messy. "Yes, please, Daddy," he says, his fingers twisting in the sheets. "My daddy." He never wants to talk that much when he's playing down; his words belong to another part of him. His vocabulary is as small as he feels. 

He can feel himself slipping away again; he'd come back a bit, when he'd wet himself, and after, but he's slipping down again. It's hazy and he's wet and he feels little and loved. 

Harry tells him when he's going to come. Louis pulls him in again, wanting him to be nearer, wanting to feel his daddy's hitched breaths against his mouth as he makes Louis even messier. Harry goes easily, careful not to squash Louis, kissing his mouth open, careful even with his kisses when he's so close to the edge. 

When he comes, it's with a soft, hitched, _love you, baby_ , and then Louis' dick is warm and wet with come, Harry's dick pulsing against Louis' erection. It's wet and terrible and the loveliest thing ever, Louis whimpering against Harry's mouth and not able to put into words how dirty and used and loved he feels. Harry stays where he is afterwards, catching his breath even as he kisses Louis over and over. His dick slides out of the gap in Louis' sleepsuit after a while, Harry going up on his knees to cup Louis' face in his hands. His hand smells like come. The room smells like something else. 

"My good little boy," he says. "Do you want to come again?"

Louis is embarrassed and hesitant to say yes. He chews on his lip, and knows he's blushing. His dick is hard, though, and there's come everywhere and his clothes are sticking to him, and it's so, so wet. 

"I think you do," Harry says. "Tell Daddy."

Louis can't meet his eyes. Even after everything, he can't meet his eyes. He nods instead, his cheeks burning. 

"Use your words, Louis."

"Yes, please."

"Good boy." Harry carefully undoes another couple of buttons of Louis' sleepsuit, and rolls onto his side. Louis can look down now and see how wet his pyjamas are, see his dick with Harry's come still there, striping across his skin. He's so hard. "You've made such a mess of yourself, haven't you, baby? Can you see?"

Louis can see. He chews on his lip. He watches as Harry slowly cups his balls, and then strokes his fingers up to rest around the base of his dick. Harry never speeds up, even as he's catching the little pearl of pre-come at Louis' slit with his thumb. He ducks down to lick it off his thumb, and Louis melts down into the sheets as Harry looks up at him from under his lashes. When he leans in again, to lick at the tip of Louis' dick, Louis wants to cry with how good it feels. 

Harry keeps on touching him, never stopping even as he moves back up the bed to kiss Louis again, his mouth soft against his. Louis can feel his orgasm building up inside of him, knows he's trembling beneath Harry's touch, beneath his kiss, but coming is a surprise. He's so quiet when he comes, pulsing into Harry's hand as Harry keeps on kissing him. He pants softly into Harry's mouth, shaking as Harry strokes his hand across Louis' stomach, wiping his palm clean. Harry keeps on touching him until Louis is shivering with it, Harry tugging him close again, into a tight hug, only letting go of Louis' dick when Louis curls up against him, eyes tight shut. He hides his face. 

"You're so good," Harry tells him, hugging him even tighter. Louis trembles with it, with everything he wants and everything he asks for and everything he needs. "You're so, so good, Louis. I love you."

Louis just—he can't. He screws his eyes shut and holds on tight, and doesn't cry even though the room smells like piss and he's covered in come. Even now he wants his daddy more than anything, wants Harry to hold him like this and look after him. He wants to be loved, and loved like this, and he hates it and loves it in equal parts. 

"I'm messy," he says, finally. His sleepsuit is starting to get clammy and it's awkward with Harry where he doesn't want it to be awkward. 

"I know," Harry says, and kisses the top of his head. 

Louis closes his eyes again. What they've just done is starting to be startlingly real. "God," he says. 

"Hey," Harry says. "Don't. None of that. Seriously. I loved that. You're my little boy and I love it."

Louis swallows. He nods. "Yeah," he says, because he knows that Harry loves him. He knows it in the way Harry's holding him now, in the gentle way he touches him, in the careful way he looks after him. They'd talked about what happens now, discussed at length where they could take it once they'd done it, and Louis had wet himself. How to get them back to normal.

"I'll run us another bath," Harry says, stroking his fingers through Louis' hair. "Get us all clean and spit-spot, all right?"

Louis nods. He doesn't want to move, even though he's starting to feel uncomfortable. 

"Come on," Harry says. "Sooner we get you in the bath, the sooner you can be back in your pyjamas and we can be in bed again."

He stumbles as he stands up, his clothes sticking to him. Harry just wraps an arm around his waist and kisses the back of his neck though, walking him through to the bathroom. He strips Louis out of his wet sleepsuit as the water runs, and Louis thinks half-heartedly about taking over, but he likes it when Harry touches him like this, when Harry's in control and looking after him even when he doesn't feel quite as little as he did before. Harry strips off afterwards, dropping their clothes on the floor by the door. 

"I'm going to go and strip the bed," he says, testing the heat of the water. "I'll put a wash on and then I'll be back in two minutes, all right?"

Louis nods, and he climbs into the bath as Harry picks up their clothes from the floor. He lies back in the water with his head back against Harry's stupid bath pillow, and closes his eyes. He's so frenetic the rest of the time, his brain always going, unable to stay still without messing around for long. This always feels so different from that, so carefully quiet inside his head, and Harry always helps that along. They never have music on or the TV on when they're playing at this; there's nothing to speed them up or rush them on. It's the only time Louis ever feels really, truly peaceful. He wouldn't want to give that up, even if Harry decides at some point in the future that he's bored of this game. He stays where he is, eyes closed, listening to Harry move around downstairs. 

Harry lights a couple of candles when he gets back upstairs, putting them on the windowsill before sliding his hand over Louis' shoulder. "Budge up," he says, and Louis obediently shifts forward so that Harry can climb into the bath behind him. He leans in and kisses the back of Louis' neck. "Do you want a head massage? My mum showed me how to give them. I practiced on Robin."

Louis tries not to snort. "You're ridiculous," he says, instead.

"Wait until you've had the full Harry experience," Harry tells him, half seriously, and Louis really does love him. He loves every stupid last piece of him, every part of Harry that has never, ever made Louis feel dirty or disgusting for what he wants. There's a large enough part of himself doing just that enough for the both of them, but that doesn't detract from the rest of it. 

They stay in the bath for ages, talking about nothing much at all, until their fingers are turning prune-like, and the water's going cold. One of the candles has melted down to almost nothing, the dust on the candle holder flickering the flame with little _phutt_ -ing noises. Harry insists on bundling Louis back up into his big towel again, pulling the little hood up over his head and kissing his nose as he dries him. Louis would resist; he's only half-playing anymore, but it's so nice when he's the sole focus of Harry's attention. He goes along with it quite happily, humming as Harry slides his hand into his and leads him down the landing and into Harry's bedroom. Puddle is sitting right in the middle of the pillows, and Louis scoops her up even without even thinking about it. 

Harry snorts, and turns Louis around, cupping his face in his hands. "You," he says, and then he leans in kisses him, licking his way into Louis' mouth. When Louis tries to put Puddle down, Harry won't let him, circling his hand around Louis' wrist. "You don't need to," he says, kissing him again. "You can have it all."

"God," Louis says, but he doesn't let go of his stuffed mouse. He wraps his arms around Harry's neck instead, the mouse resting against his neck as he kisses him back. 

"What do you want to do?" Harry asks, sliding his hand into Louis' hair. 

"Have sex," Louis says, immediately, and without having to think about it. 

Harry laughs. "What kind?"

"The kind where you finger me open," Louis says, trying to nudge Harry back towards the bed. 

"Only if you call me Daddy," Harry says, stroking his hand into the small of Louis' back, pulling him closer. He mouths at Louis' throat, and Louis tips his head back. 

"You're filthy," Louis says, but he's the one still clutching his toy mouse. 

"We can do whatever you want," Harry goes on. "I can read you a story, or we can watch a film, or whatever. I wasn't serious about you having to call me Daddy."

"I was," Louis says. He knows he's blushing a bit, but he carries on regardless, his toes bumping up against Harry's. "Can we play again? Just a bit."

Harry breaks out into a smile. "Yep," he says. "What do you want?"

"Pyjamas," Louis tells him. "Puddle. Me calling you Daddy. You fingering me open. Fucking, I don't know."

"You have the best ideas," Harry says, going straight for the drawer where they keep all of Louis' clothes for when they're doing this. All of his pyjamas and sleepsuits are for girls, because apparently it's still okay to have cute pictures of fluffy puppies on your clothes if you're a woman, but not a man. Harry comes back with the blue polka dot pyjamas with a blue puppy on the front of the top. "These ones?"

Louis' dick is already starting to get fat. "Yes, Daddy," he says, and Harry's eyes go dark. They barely make it on to the bed before Harry's helping him on with his pyjama top, and Louis' pulling on the pyjamas. He laughs, grabbing Puddle again, and rolling on top of Harry when Harry tugs him near. 

"God, I love you like this," Harry says, running his hands down Louis' back and cupping his arse, squeezing. 

"Calling you Daddy," Louis says, just to feel Harry's dick jerk from where it's pressed up against his balls. He wriggles a little bit, biting on his lip to keep from laughing. Sometimes it's just like this between the two of them: fun, easy, not as desperately full of meaning as the rest of it. 

"Not putting Puddle down," Harry says. "Good little boy pyjamas. All of it. You."

Louis groans. Harry is so fucking cheesy sometimes. He pushes down against Harry's dick instead. "You're such a sap."

"I take my caretaking role very seriously," Harry says. "And also your dick. I take your dick very seriously."

"I am very serious about your dick too," Louis says. "Daddy."

Harry's dick twitches. Louis grins, and tucks his mouse in against his chest. 

"Daddy," he says again, just because he can. 

"Menace," Harry says, but it's without rancour. "Come here and let me put my hand down your pyjama bottoms."

Louis goes exactly where Harry tells him to, without complaint. He's easily obedient in the bedroom, when he lets himself. It feels really, really good to be told what to do. Harry's the first person he's ever really let at that part of him. 

Harry cups Louis' dick through his pyjama bottoms. "You're so hard, baby."

"Yeah, well, so are you, Daddy."

Harry squeezes, before stroking his hand down over Louis' balls and through his legs to finger at his hole through his pyjama bottoms. Louis whimpers, and Harry just laughs. When Harry shifts position so that he's sliding his hand down the back of Louis' pyjamas, Louis collapses down on top of him with an oomph, and rubs his cheek against Harry's chest. He tucks Puddle into the curve of his elbow, and doesn't suck his thumb as Harry rubs the spit-wet pad of his thumb over Louis' hole, a little faster than when Louis really feels little, but still not all that fast. Harry isn't ever going to speed up unless he has to. 

Harry fingers him open gently, not rushing, the tip of his second finger following his first, sneaking in a third finger just as Louis is panting against Harry's skin. He rocks down against Harry's dick, knowing that there's a little damp patch on the front of his pyjamas from where he's leaked. 

"Fuck me, Daddy," he begs, when it's too much to bear and he needs it so badly he's willing to beg for it. "Want you inside me."

They don't bother with condoms anymore. Harry lubes himself up and they push Louis' pyjamas down to his knees, rolling him onto his back so that his knees are pulled up to his chest. His puppy pyjama top is all rucked up, and Louis keeps a tight hold on his mouse as Harry lines himself up. He presses in, slow but steady, one long exhale of breath. 

He chants, _Daddy, Daddy, Daddy_ , and Harry folds himself up like a pretzel to lean in and kiss the words from his mouth, lacing his fingers with Louis' as he fucks into him. They're both holding on to Puddle.

They come a minute apart, Louis first, Harry still fucking him as Louis trembles with the intensity of it. Harry pulls out to finish off by wanking off all over Louis' dick, and Louis begs for it, desperate to be fucked up and messy even when he's not feeling all that little. 

Afterwards, Harry tucks himself around Louis like an extra blanket, bracketing him as he pulls the covers up and over them. He's pulled Louis' pyjama bottoms back up, and his top back down, and he sneaks his hand round to pat at Louis' dick through the cotton. 

"I'm a mess," Louis says, a little mournfully. He's already had two baths tonight, and he's not up for a third. 

"Just the way you like it," Harry says, kissing the back of his neck. 

"Yeah, yeah," Louis says. They have to talk about what happened earlier, at some point. Dissect it and make sure Harry liked it as much as Louis did. Deal with the inside of Louis' head. "For the record, thanks. For earlier, you know."

Harry kisses him again, mouth pressed to just beneath his ear. "For the last time," he says, "I love it. I love looking after you. I'd do it any time. Anyway, what's a spare bedroom for if you can't piss in it every once in a while?"

Louis snorts at that, and that sets Harry off. His laughter vibrates across Louis' skin. _I love you_ , he thinks, and then, _Daddy_. _My daddy_. 

"Go to sleep," Harry says, after a while, nestling a little closer. "There's a good boy." He's more than half-asleep, far closer to asleep than awake, but it doesn't stop Louis from tangling their hands together again. 

"Love you," Louis says, but Harry's already asleep. Louis closes his eyes, and doesn't let go.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: [magicalrocketships](http://magicalrocketships.tumblr.com/) / twitter: [sunsetmog](https://twitter.com/sunsetmog).


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